


Such Great Heights

by quixoticlie



Series: The Johnlock Mixtape Challenge [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Blow Jobs, Breakfast in Bed, Jazz - Freeform, Longing, Louisiana, M/M, Musician John, New Orleans, Pie, Separations, Voicemail, musician au, pie in bed, sherlock is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticlie/pseuds/quixoticlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello! I've taken a 23 song mixtape from High School titled, enigmatically, "Just Chill", and am using each song as a guide/inspiration for a Johnlock ficlet. I'm rather new to this whole thing, so updates will definitely not be daily (especially since I am particularly wordy, haha) I hope you enjoy!</p><p>The song that was used to guide this story is Such Great Heights, specifically the Iron and Wine cover. While the original Postal Service song is amazing, the version on the CD I'm using as inspiration is by Iron and Wine, and it's gooooorgeous. I tried to stick to the feel of the song as much as possible, and hope that you guys enjoy.  The story is about Sherlock, a jaded ex-musician, and John, an up and coming open-mic-night-guy, and Sherlock's determination to have John be seen and taken seriously by the Music world. This story gave me a hard time, so leave comments if you enjoyed it and this seems like something you'd want to be continued. Thanks so much!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Great Heights

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU to [cassyphace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cassyphace/pseuds/cassyphace) for looking over this and helping me to delete unnecessary commas and be amazing and supportive, and making a gal feel excellent. This is a re-post from an earlier trial with this Challenge. After talking to some people, I was encouraged to make them all separate stories in a series. I will re-post what I have so far, and then continue on if it's received well enough.
> 
> Song can be found on YouTube right [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKGHkBComjM).

**Sherlock**

No one had ever thought that the elusive and rumoured to be constantly strung out Sherlock Holmes would ever do something as normal as spending his evening at open mic night in a small jazz bar. Then again, no one had ever thought that the great Sherlock Holmes would be jaded, withdrawn, refusing to play for the public, and hiding out in a shabby old house just outside of New Orleans, Louisiana. He had once been one of the greatest musicians to grace the stage, filling stadiums and winning awards and sulking his way into the hearts of self-professed tortured souls everywhere. Now, however, he found himself sitting at the same, tired bar that he had been frequenting for a month with a beaten up old hat covering his too-long, messy, black curls that the humidity was trying it's hardest to make even messier, sunglasses on at eleven at night, glass of Jack Daniels in one hand, listening to one of the bartenders on the makeshift stage announce that it was open mic night. Sherlock groaned out loud and banged his glass on the bar for a top up. The bartender, who had been hanging around waiting for Sherlock to indicate that he needed more whiskey, laughed out loud.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm with you, but the tourists like it, and as long as they don't play Freebird, it's not so bad, is it?" Sal said as he poured more whiskey into Sherlock's cup.

Sherlock was prepared to drink and smoke his way through another annoying night of people crooning and hoping and praying they were discovered and saved from their shitty life by some big wig who was likely only in town because of one of the movies that was being filmed in New Orleans. After the two guys on stage set up, though, Sherlock paused, brow furrowed as he stared into his glass, listening to a surprisingly amazing song. Sal chuckled at him and Sherlock waved him off after his glass was filled yet again, standing to get a closer seat to the raised platform that served as a stage.

It wasn't often that Sherlock's interest was piqued at all, and it was even less often that his interest was piqued about something that had to do with music. The world was filled with vapid pop stars and autotune and wastes of space and air. It was rare to find a diamond in the rough, an actual musician with talent and soul... it was rare to find someone who seemed to actually view music as an extension of their self, and who poured their love for the craft into every bar and note and word. It was extremely rare, but somehow, while trying to get drunk and numb, Sherlock had inadvertently stumbled upon an actual musician.

There was a pudgy guy on a bongo drum with a microphone to provide backup. He was completely inconsequential, and served only to make the guy on guitar look even more amazing, if that were even possible. The guy growling out a bluesy sort of soft rock on an acoustic was incredible. He looked to be in his late twenties, dark blond hair, petite, but obviously hiding some sort of power, if his stance and his amazing voice were anything to go by. Sherlock decided, as he pounded back the last of his drink, that he had to have him.

Sherlock watched, enraptured, as the set went on, and was on his feet the second that it was done. The man grinned charmingly and waved off the applause of the bar patrons as he packed up his guitar and headed for the area behind the stage where his personal items were likely stowed. Sherlock was jogging after him in a flash, shaking his head to clear the fog that the whiskey had settled into his mind. Before the guy could get away, Sherlock reached forward and grabbed his hand, spinning him around to face him, as he took off his sunglasses so that he could get an actual look at the guy.

"Oh, Sunshine, you're gonna be the death of me", Sherlock muttered when he saw the pink cheeks and blue eyes of the man before him. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you're incredible." He said, eyebrows raised as his eyes instantly flicked over any part of the now gaping man that he could see. When the guy seemed stunned into silence and lost for words, Sherlock took his guitar from him, and handed it to the pudgy drummer that had come out to see what was keeping the guitarist.

"You... You're actually Sherlock Holmes..." The guy stammered out, taking the offered guitar.

"Store that, won't you? We're going to go have a smoke" Sherlock drawled, throwing a saccharine smile at the now speechless drummer before he tugged on the guitarist's hand until they were out the employee's entrance to an alley behind the bar. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, Sherlock leaned against the wall and watched the man try to figure out what had just happened. Waiting patiently for him to speak, Sherlock just raised one eyebrow as he lit his clove cigarette.

"I don't smoke..." Came the confused voice, causing Sherlock to chuckle darkly, smoke curling from his lips as he did so.

"Doesn't matter", Sherlock replied. "I do, and oh, ducky, have I been wanting to talk to you. How can you stand to come out here, to a small little bar that no one cares about, creating real fucking music and actually being talented? How can you walk around in that unassuming fucking button up, singing your god damned heart out and not caring that half the people in there weren't even paying attention? How is it that I've been in the music business over half of my shitty life, and I've never once heard anything as raw, and as brilliant as what you just did in there? How can you hide out in this smoky fucking city, plodding along as if you're not hiding one of the best voices of our generation? I've gotta tell you, Sunshine, I'm not sure whether I want to put you on a pedestal and demand that you be seen, or just fucking walk away, because you're so good... you're so good that I don't even know what to do with you right now. You can make shit turn to silk, kid. That thing everyone wants here... that thing that everyone knows they have to have to make it in the business... that fucking... za... it's like it's coming from your pores and you don't even seem to care about it."

Taken aback, the man gaped at Sherlock, obviously unsure whether to be angry at being judged for playing in a small bar on open mic night, or thankful and pleased that someone so well known in the industry thought that he was talented. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, spitting out the only words that he really could think of at the moment.

"My name is John, not Sunshine."

Sherlock grinned slowly, like the Cheshire Cat, tossing the forgotten cigarette onto the dirty asphalt. "John, then. Grab your stuff and meet me out front. If you want, you can follow me home. I've never actually had someone that I wanted to have a jam session with before, and Mrs. Hudson from 221 Bakers brought me a chocolate pie this afternoon that I certainly can't finish on my own.."

\---

The next morning found Sherlock stretched out on his back in his sinfully comfortable bed with a very naked musician straddling his hips. Sherlock yawned with a hand over his face as John grinned, waiting for him to wake up completely. Sherlock was unaware that John had woken up before him and disentangled himself from the clinging limbs of the ex rock star, gone into the kitchen, found the pie he was promised that they had both forgotten about, and come back to bed. Now, Sherlock opened his eyes to see John with a pie in one hand, and a fork in the other, seemingly content to use Sherlock as a seat, and to have his breakfast of pie regardless of whether Sherlock was awake to have any or not.

"Well..." Sherlock let out, voice even deeper now that he'd had some sleep. The gravelly tone made John shiver visibly, which in turn made Sherlock smirk. "I see you've made yourself at home, haven't you?"

John's hair was sticking up everywhere in the most appealing way, and the comfort and ease with which he seemed to own the room, and the moment, both combined to make Sherlock instantly awake, and instantly aware of the erection that John was subtly rocking against. Slowly eating pie without taking his eyes off of Sherlock, John smiled innocently and nodded at him, before swallowing and leaning down to give him a very sweet kiss, humming as his did so.

Sherlock groaned into the kiss as he felt John's erection trapped between their bellies, and John's grin against his lips. "you want some pie?" John murmured, before he was laughing as Sherlock very quickly took said pie out of his hands to put on his bedside table, along with the fork. John was deftly flipped to his back, and he must have been expecting it, because he only grinned, letting his legs wrap around Sherlock's waist as he was kissed deeply, hands tangling in the riotous dark curls.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to make John forget all about the pie, and soon enough the blond was gasping out as his back arched. Sherlock's mouth had made a trail down John's chest and unerringly found John's impressive morning erection. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was the fact that he wasn't on drugs any longer, or that he had been so starved for human touch without realising it, or that the instant connection between john and himself was so strong and instantaneous that the sex was so good, but sherlock wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He found himself thinking that not only did he not want John to leave this morning, but that he wasn't keen on John leaving him ever, and the surprise of that usually out of character thought made him nearly choke as he had gotten distracted from what he was doing. John looked at him, concerned, and when Sherlock tried to open his mouth to tell him that he was fine, what came out instead was "Move in with me".

What a sight he thought he must have made: cheeks flushed, naked, lips red and swollen, chin shiny from a combination of spit and pre-come, asking John to be his live in. What a fool he likely seemed. Foolish and desperate.

John's eyes, however, went a bit soft around the edges as his face transformed from vaguely worried, to endearingly sweet.

"Yeah, alright then."

Sherlock's eyes widened, as if he wasn't expecting the question to fall from his lips (he wasn't) and he also wasn't expecting John to agree so readily (he definitely wasn't). He grinned, though, when the whole situation processed, and bent his head to his task with renewed energy, no longer distracted. He drank in the sounds that John was making, learning the way that he twitched and writhed when Sherlock stumbled upon something that John particularly enjoyed. His mouth moved slow and sweet, like honey, as any early morning coupling should. Soon enough, John was begging him to have mercy, and Sherlock couldn't deny the singer anything when it was asked so desperately, and he complied, speeding up his movements until John was spilling into his mouth.

\---

**John**

Within the month, Sherlock had drug John from meeting to meeting, recording studio to gig and back into the recording studio. John had shaken more hands and handed out more demos in that month than he ever had in his entire life, and his face seemed to be stuck in a permanent polite smile for as much as he had to employ it towards whatever person Sherlock had directed him at. Sherlock, himself, was a chameleon. He could sham a personality to match whatever it seemed would work best to get what he wanted out of the person they were talking to.

What Sherlock wanted, of course, was for the world to hear John Watson. John really couldn't give two flying fucks about fame or not, he was just as happy spending lazy days with Sherlock, playing for tourists, and following Sherlock around after as he dissected every facet of the people around them for their private amusement. Sherlock, however, wanted the world to recognise what he saw in John, and he wouldn't stop until he got his way, which was par for the course with Sherlock Holmes.

Half of John was surprised that it only took a month, and the other half was surprised that it worked at all, but Sherlock seemed completely unsurprised when John was signed to a record label. Things moved rather quickly after that, and John's life was a flurry of signing papers, shaking more hands, smiling, and photos. It was exhilarating, but exhausting, and the only thing that really made it worth it was the way Sherlock smiled at John. It was a mixture of smug pride, and the look that everything seemed finally right in Sherlock's world, as if John playing in small bars really had thrown his world so out of orbit that he had no choice but to correct it.

\---

Soon, too soon in John's opinion, he was packing to go on a short summer tour as the opening act, and he was terribly excited. This was all he had ever wanted since he was a teenager: to play music professionally, and to be able to devote all of his time and energy to making himself a better musician, and to hopefully bring smiles to people's faces as he went. He didn't, however, feel too happy about leaving Sherlock for the duration of the tour. Sherlock put on a brave face, of course, explaining that John had to go, needed to pay his dues, and once he had gotten one or two under his belt, Sherlock could come with him, but John knew the impossible man's moods, by now, and knew that he was faking. John didn't call him out on it, however, because he knew that they both needed the facade at that moment to be able to get through this.

Their last night together before John had to leave almost ended in a fight, and would have, had John not known the tricks that Sherlock was using to keep himself from getting too emotionally involved. As if it weren't already too late for that.

"It'll only be 5 weeks. That's basically a month, Sherlock. It won't be all that bad. I've even got Skype, now, for when I can get internet. And there's always the phone."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed softly, wrapping his blue dressing gown tighter around himself as he tried to curl up into an even smaller ball in his chair. "I know that, of course." He said, throwing an indignant look at the ceiling. "I do know how days and weeks and months fit together, you know."

John let out a steadying breath, knowing why Sherlock was acting like a right dick, but he didn't want to spend his last evening with Sherlock being annoyed and angry, even if Sherlock's natural personality was dialed up to eleven. "Sherlock, come over here." he said gently, not rising to the bait. Patting the space on the sofa next to him, John tapped into his seemingly endless supply of patience, and waited for Sherlock to pout long enough to feel that he had made his point before joining John on the couch. It didn't take very long, of course, and John was soon wrapping his arms around the lanky man and resting his face into those curls that he loved so much.

"I'm about to say some stuff that you're going to think is idiotic. You're likely going to hate it, or think me very silly, but I'm going to say these things anyway, and you're going to endure it. Not only will you endure it, but you'll do so with a smile _and_ without telling me that you think I'm a sentimental fool or something else equally as rude." John's face was set, but he was still holding Sherlock rather close, so he couldn't see how Sherlock was taking all of this. He took the silence for assent, and took a deep breath before letting it out.

"Sherlock, you're easily the best thing that's ever happened to me." He started, before he was, of course, interrupted.

"John, if this is a speech you're giving me because you're either dying, planning on dying, or planning on breaking up with me, you can stop it, immediately"

John sighed and tried to keep the fond smirk off of his face. "It's nothing like that, just let me finish, yeah?" Without giving Sherlock time to defend himself, ask questions, or answer John's rhetorical one, the blond soldiered on, keeping his arms around Sherlock as he talked lowly and softly. He spoke quickly, but clearly, almost as if he were afraid that if he didn't get it all out in one big rush, it wouldn't happen at all.

"I always thought that the term 'my better half' and that sort of thing was rather dumb. What sort of a person, I thought, would be so insecure in themselves that they felt like they couldn't function without another person? One half of a whole doesn't seem as if it would have the working parts to be able to continue on without the other bits." John sighed, nuzzling his nose into Sherlock's hair. "I know what they mean, now. Or, what they're trying to say. It's like the way a puzzle fits. Each little bit has some color on it, and seems completely indistinguishable, but suddenly, you snap two of them together and you can start to see the bigger picture. That's how I feel. I feel like I didn't even know that I needed you until I met you, and now I can't possibly imagine myself or my life without you in it." John paused, chuckling to himself, and shaking his head. "I can't believe that I'm about to go on a fucking tour, playing music. This is my dream, and it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you. There are so many things that have happened to me, emotionally, situationally, since I've met you that I can't even begin to thank you for each of them, so I won't try. There are so many ways that I'm going to miss you when I'm on the road that I can't even begin to tell you, so I won't try that, either. But if you think for one moment that I'm not going to be thinking about you for every second of every day, and thanking a god that I didn't even think I believed in for putting you in my life, you're sadly mistaken. I'm going to go on this tour, and I'm going to do everything I can to make you proud, and I'm going to work my hardest. When I'm done, when we're eventually satisfied, we'll be at the top, together, and we'll look down at everything, and we'll only be done when we say so, and it'll be perfect. Just perfect, Sherlock." He pulled back and placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

The dark haired man seemed to be processing all of this, which John expected, so he just kissed those cupid's bow lips and stood up to make a cup of tea, as seemed to be his habit of late.

The two of them sat in contemplative silence and drank their tea, John not worrying in the slightest that Sherlock didn't have an answer for him, or an epic speech. That's not how Sherlock worked, and John wasn't expecting him to pour emotions out as John had. He liked Sherlock for who he was, and there was no need at all to change that.

When, half an hour later, Sherlock frowned and blinked, looking around as if lost and murmuring John's name, the blond merely smiled affectionately and led him to bed. He kissed him as if it were the first time, and as if it were the last time, memorising everything that he could for the long weeks that he'd be spending away from the man.

\---

John had just gotten changed and flopped onto his bed in the tour bus that he'd been living on for the past two weeks when he checked his phone, which he'd had to ignore for the duration of the show he'd just played. He grinned when he saw that there were a few text messages from Sherlock, three missed calls, and two voice messages.

Frowning, John went to listen to the messages, because even though it was more common now that it had been when he was in New Orleans, Sherlock still rarely called him.

"Yes, hello John. This is Sherlock. I'm... I'm sure you've gathered that, though. You know who it is. Yes, of course. So, I just. I just wanted to say that... That I've thought about what you said before you left. And... and I quite understand, now. I know that you've got a bit of time left before you can come back, but if you can come back just as quickly as you could, that would be fine with me. Yes. Hm. "

The rest of the recording that John listened to while grinning and convincing himself that he wasn't crying, he was just tired, was of Sherlock playing John's favorite song on the violin for him. Once it was done, John listened to it twice more before emailing the recording to himself so that he'd have it even if something were to happen to the phone.

After that was done, he opened the second voicemail, which opened with Sherlock breathing awkwardly and nervously into the phone, before he heard a soft "oh, fuck it", and the phone being put down. What followed was a song that took John's breath away. Even in the relationship that they were in, Sherlock avoided playing guitar and singing in front of John. It had only really happened once when they were spectacularly drunk, and Sherlock had been unguarded. It just wasn't something that Sherlock allowed himself to do anymore, and the fact that not only had Sherlock obviously written a song for John, but had performed it, and send it to him on a voicemail was nearly too much. John actually stopped before he finished it so that he could email himself the recording, because he didn't want to take any chances.

He listened to it feverishly four or five more times, before he wiped at his face and went to look at the texts that Sherlock had sent.

**John. Don't listen to the second voicemail. It doesn't sound as it should, it sounds thin and isn't good enough. Please just leave it. Delete it. -SH**

**I'm trying to figure out how to remotely delete voicemails, and it is proving difficult from a distance. Send confirmation that it is deleted. -SH**

**John... I miss you. Come home? -SH**

John took a deep breath and made sure that the curtains around his bunk were closed before he sighed and looked at the texts again. He was glad that he had already saved the messages, because he wouldn't put it past Sherlock to be able to remotely hack into John's phone and delete the messages. He thought for a moment before he started a return text, knowing the way that he phrased his text would either calm Sherlock down, or be cause for the man to panic more. Carefully, carefully, he tapped out a message.

**Sherlock Holmes. If you even think about attempting to delete these two beautiful voice messages, I will personally kill you and then never speak to you again. I have been missing you to death and the only thing that has lifted my spirit for this entire trip has been these messages, so if you take those away from me, I will never forgive you. I plan to fall asleep every night to you singing to me until I have you in my arms again.**

Maybe not as careful as he wanted, but Sherlock would get the point, John had hoped. He got up to get ready for bed while the members of the other band got ready to go out and party. They had long since stopped trying to get John to come out with them. They just smiled, pat him on the back, and bade him goodnight. When he was done and back in his bunk, he smiled as he read the text reply from Sherlock.

**Okay, John. Okay. -SH**

**I miss you. -SH**

\---

It was September when John was dropped off in his driveway. His, regardless of the fact that he'd lived on the tour bus for more time than he'd lived in this house. He drew a steadying breath as he walked up the drive and opened the door, two full days before Sherlock was expecting him. John found the man in question on his back on their shabby couch, face slack with sleep. Smiling fondly, John put his bags down and settled wearily onto the end of the couch that Sherlock wasn't covering with his overly long body.

"Sherlock, I'm home, now."

"Yes, John, in a minute. It'll be clean before you come home..."

John smirked and looked around the uncleaned house and sat back, waiting. Just as expected, there was a pause before Sherlock surged up and stared wild eyed at John. Not two moments later, John had a lap full of surprised, indignant ex-rock star.

"You.. You fooled me! No one has ever been able to achieve that. How could you have achieved that?" Sherlock demanded between staring at John, kissing over his face with a tender sort of reverence, and seeming to attempt to memorise exactly how many hairs John's head contained.

John merely smiled, running his hands up and down Sherlock's sides, getting kisses in when he could. "I only just decided to come back today. The guys chipped in to get me a plane ticket instead of me taking the bus home. Apparently, me being love sick was too much to bear. The guys made me make one promise, though, when they gave me the tickets. They told me if I didn't take you to bed before I did anything else, they'd all come over and take up residence in our sitting room until their next tour. I should tell you, as thankful as I am to them, I have no desire to house those crazy idiots for months." John grinned and stood up, pulling Sherlock to his feet, and kissing him once more. "So, if you don't mind, I'd rather like to keep my promise to them."

"Of course, John. You wouldn't be you if you didn't keep your promise. You are nothing if not an honest man."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to comment and send kudos if you enjoyed! Also check out my other offerings in this series, and come find me on [MY TUMBLR](http://dude-youre-gettin-adele.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to!


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